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The High School Pitcher, a fiction by H. Irving Hancock |
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Chapter 7. Dave Talks With One Hand |
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_ CHAPTER VII. DAVE TALKS WITH ONE HAND The next afternoon Fred and his father went over to Duxbridge. They found the great Everett at home, and not only at home, but willing to take up with their proposal. The celebrated professional pitcher named a price that caused Lawyer Ripley to hesitate for a few moments. Then catching the appealing look in his son's face, the elder Ripley agreed to the terms. The training was to be given at Duxbridge, in Everett's big and almost empty barn. That night Lawyer Ripley, a man of prompt habit in business, mailed his check for the entire amount. Fred, in the privacy of his own room, danced several brief but exuberant jigs. "Now, I've got you, Dick Prescott! And I've not only got you, but if you come in second to me, I'll try to keep in such condition that I pitch every important game of the whole season!" But the next morning the Ripley heir received a sad jolt. In one of his text-books he ran across a piece of cardboard on which was printed, in coarse characters: "Tuday, same plas, same time. Bring ten. Or don't, if you dare!" "That infernal blackmailer, Tip Scammon!" flared Fred indignantly. In the courage of desperation Fred promptly decided that he would ignore the Scammon rascal. Nor did Fred change his mind. Besides, this afternoon he was due at Duxbridge for his first lesson under the mighty Everett. So Tip was on hand at the drug store beside the post office, but no Fred came. Tip scowled and hung about in the neighborhood until after four o'clock. Then he went away, a black look indeed on his not handsome face. Meanwhile, most of the people of Gridley, as elsewhere in the Christian world, were thinking of "Peace on Earth" and all that goes with it. The stores were radiant with decorations and the display of gifts. The candy stores and hot soda places were doing a rushing business. Dick, who had been scurrying about in search of a few news paragraphs, and had found them, encountered Dave Darrin. Being something of a capitalist in these days, when "The Blade" was paying him two and a half to three dollars a week, Prescott invited his chum in to have a hot soda. While they were still in the place Laura Bentley and Belle Meade entered. The High School boys lifted their hats courteously to the girls and Dick invited them to have their soda with Dave and himself. "We hear that baseball is going to be a matter of great enthusiasm during the next few months," said Laura, as they sipped their soda. "Yes; and the cause of no end of heartburnings and envies," laughed Prescott. "From just after the holidays to some time in April every fellow will be busy trying to make the school team, and will feel aggrieved if he hits only the second team." "Who's going to pitch for the school nine?" asked Belle. "Dick Prescott," declared Dave instantly. "I'd like to," nodded Dick, "but I've several good men against me. Darrin may take it all away from me. There are eight men down for pitching, altogether, so it isn't going to be an easy cinch for anyone." "The nine always has more than one pitcher. Why can't _you_ make the position of pitcher, too?" asked Belle, looking at Dave. "Oh, I may make the job of brevet-pitcher on the second nine," Dave laughed goodhumoredly. "The only reason I put my name down for pitcher was so as to make the fight look bigger." "Who are the other candidates for pitcher?" asked Laura. "Well, Ripley's one," replied Dave. "Ripley? Oh, _he_!" uttered Miss Bentley, in a tone of scorn. "I understand he's no fool of a pitcher," Dick remarked. "I congratulate him, then," smiled Laura. "On what?" "Not being a fool in everything," returned Laura. Then she added, quickly: "I'm afraid that expresses my real opinion, but I've no right to say it." "There are two reasons why you shouldn't say it," added Dave, gravely. "What are they?" Laura wanted to know. "First of all---well, pardon me, but it sounds like talking about another behind his back. The other reason is that Ripley isn't worth talking about, anyway." "Now, what are you doing?" demanded Belle. "Oh, well," Dave replied, "Ripley knows my opinion of him pretty well. But what are you doing this afternoon?" "We're going shopping," Laura informed the boys as the quartette left the soda fountain. "Do you care to go around with us and look at the displays in the stores?" "That's about all shopping means, isn't it?" smiled Dick. "Just going around and looking at things?" "Then if you don't care to come with us-----" pouted Miss Bentley. "Stop---please do, I beg of you," Dick hastily added. "Of course we want to go." The two chums put in a very pleasant hour wandering about through the stores with the High School girls. Laura and Belle _did_ make some small purchases of materials out of which they intended to make gifts for the approaching holiday. As they came out of the last store they moved toward the corner, the girls intending to take a car to pay a little visit to an aunt of Laura's before the afternoon was over. Dick saw something in one of the windows at the corner and signed to Dave to come over. The two girls were left, momentarily, standing on the corner. While they stood thus Fred Ripley came along. His first lesson in pitching had been brief, the great Everett declining to tire the boy's arm too much at the first drill. So young Ripley, after a twelve-mile trip in the auto through the crisp December air, came swinging down the street at a brisk walk. Just as this moment he espied the two girls, though he did not see Dick or Dave. Belle happened to turn as Ripley came near her. "Hullo, Meade!" he called, patronizingly. It is a trick with some High School boys thus to address a girl student by her last name only, but it is not the act of a gentleman. Belle resented it by stiffening at once, and glancing coldly at Ripley without greeting him. In another instant Dave Darrin, at a bound, stood before the astonished Fred. Dave's eyes were flashing in a way they were wont to do when he was thoroughly angry. "Ripley---you cur! To address a young woman in that familiar fashion!" glared Dave. "What have you to say about it?" demanded Fred, insolently. "This!" was Dave Darrin's only answer in words. Smack! His fist landed on one side of Fred's face. The latter staggered, then slipped to the ground. "There's the car, Dick," uttered Dave, in a low tone. "Put the girls aboard." Half a dozen passers-by had already turned and were coming back to learn the meaning of this encounter. Dick understood how awkward the situation would be for the girls, so he glided forward, hailed the car, and led Laura and Belle out to it. "But I'd rather stay," whispered Belle, in protest. "I want to make sure that Dave doesn't get into any trouble." "He won't," Dick promised. "It'll save him annoyance if he knows you girls are not being stared at by curious rowdies." Dick quickly helped the girls aboard the car, then nodded to the conductor to ring the bell. A second later Dick was bounding back to his chum's side. Fred Ripley was on his feet, scowling at Dave Darrin. The latter, though his fists were not up, was plainly in an attitude where he could quickly defend himself. "That was an unprovoked assault, you rowdy!" Fred exclaimed wrathfully. "I'd trust to any committee of _gentlemen_ to exonerate me," Dave answered coolly. "You acted the rowdy, Ripley, and you'd show more sense if you admitted it and reformed." "What did he do?" demanded one of the curious ones in the crowd. "He addressed a young lady with offensive familiarity," Dave replied hotly. "What did _you_ do?" demanded another in the crowd. "I knocked him down," Dave admitted coolly. "Well, that's about the proper thing to do," declared another bystander. "The Ripley kid has no kick coming to him. Move on, young feller!" Fred started, glaring angrily at the speaker. But half a dozen pressed forward about him. Ripley's face went white with rage when he found himself being edged off the sidewalk into the gutter. "Get back, there, you, and leave me alone!" he ordered, hoarsely. A laugh from the crowd was the first answer. Then some one gave the junior a shove that sent him spinning out into the street. Ripley darted by the crowd now, his caution and his dread of too much of a scene coming to his aid. Besides, some one had just called out, banteringly: "Why not take him to the horse trough?" That decided Fred on quick retreat. Ducked, deservedly, by a crowd on Main Street, Ripley could never regain real standing in the High School, and he knew that. As soon as they could Dick and Dave walked on to "The Blade" office. Here Darrin took a chair in the corner, occasionally glancing almost enviously at Prescott, as the latter, seated at a reporter's table, slowly wrote the few little local items that he had picked up during the afternoon. When Dick had finished he handed his "copy" to Mr. Pollock, and the chums left the office. "Dick, old fellow," hinted Dave, confidentially, "I'm afraid I ought to give you a tip, even though it does make me feel something like a spy." "Under such circumstances," smiled Prescott, "it might be well to think twice before giving the tip." "I've thought about it _seventeen_ times already," Dave asserted, gravely, "and you're my chum, anyway. So here goes. When we were in the department store, do you remember that the girls were looking over some worsteds, or yarns, or whatever you call the stuff?" "Yes," Prescott nodded. "Well, I couldn't quite help hearing Laura Bentley say to Belle that the yarn she picked up was just what she wanted for you." "What on earth did that mean?" queried Dick, looking almost startled. "It means that you're going to get a Christmas present from Laura," Dave answered. "But I never had a present from a girl before!" "Most anything is likely to happen," laughed Dave, "now that you're a sophomore---and a reporter, too." "Thank goodness I'm earning a little money now," murmured Dick, breathing a bit rapidly. "But, say, Dave!" "Well?" "What on earth does one give a girl at Christmas?" "Tooth-powder, scented soap, ribbons---oh, hang it! I don't know," floundered Dave hopelessly. "Anyway, I don't have to know. It's your scrape, Dick Prescott!" "Yours, too, Dave Darrin!" "What do you mean?" "Why, I saw Belle buying some of that yarny stuff, too." "Great Scott!" groaned Dave. "Say, what do you suppose they're planning to put up on us for a Christmas job? Some of those big-as-all-outdoors, wobbly, crocheted slippers?" _ |
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